


Once, Twice, Three Times

by kth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a butthole, Fuck Or Die, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Season/Series 03, Snood, Virgin Sacrifice, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kth/pseuds/kth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“As I’ve mentioned before,” Stiles says, reclining on Scott’s bed, “patterns are always repeating themselves. When they run out of groups of three to kill they’ll just start over.”</p>
<p>Stiles really needs to lose his virginity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once, Twice, Three Times

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly canon-compliant through S3E5. I don't know guys, I mainly wanted to write about Isaac's recent sartorial selections. Be aware, there is a whole lot of nothing happening here.

The Beacon Hills Strangler, as Stiles has come to think of their newest serial killer, seems to have moved on from killing virgins for the time being. That doesn’t calm Stiles at all though; he knows about patterns. Sometimes they repeat.

His quest to lose his virginity has failed horribly thus far. Twelve rejections (he’s counting) and the incident at the birthday party that he really can’t think about without breaking down a little bit, he’s just got something in his eye, ok? So yeah, failure.

At night he dreams about being dragged from his bed and into the forest, thin wire wrapping tightly around his throat. The worst part about being a virgin sacrifice, he thinks, is that you die a virgin.

Scott refuses to acknowledge him when he brings up the topic, he’s so tired of hearing about it.

“Yeah, cause you aren’t a VIRGIN,” Stiles barks out impetuously as they work on homework in Scott’s bedroom. “If your life was at risk you’d maybe care a little more!”

“Do you really think they’ll start killing virgins again?”

Stiles still hasn’t gotten used to the whole Isaac-living-with-Scott situation. He keeps forgetting the guy exists which he would feel badly about except that his life is currently at risk.

“As I’ve mentioned before,” Stiles says, reclining on Scott’s bed, “patterns are always repeating themselves. When they run out of groups of three to kill they’ll just start over.”

Isaac’s mouth turns down at the edges as he draws his snood around his throat a bit more tightly.

“That could take a while though, yeah?” He crosses his arms, tucks his hands underneath his armpits.

Stiles is happy that someone else is finally taking this life-or-death situation seriously. He settles onto his back, hands pillowed underneath his head.

“Who knows,” he says, “could be tomorrow, could be three weeks from now. All I know is that Beacon Hills is running low on virgins.”

Isaac looks decidedly unhappy. Scott is still ignoring them completely, practicing SAT vocabulary on his computer.

“I wonder if the murders could progress, you know, get worse,” Stiles thinks aloud. “Like, what if they need stuff for the sacrifices? People are always using bones and hearts and stuff for creepy ceremonies.”

“People?” Isaac mutters.

“I mean, I guess they could maybe use an animal for that stuff? I’m not really sure how this works. We really should do more research.”

Isaac is looking kind of pale to Stiles. “Dude maybe you should take off that snood, it’s kinda warm in here.”

“I think I’ll get some water from downstairs,” Isaac says.

Stiles opens his backpack to look for his economics notes.

“Maybe someone could show me which cabinet the glasses are in?” he asks.

Scott is still ignoring them so Stiles clears his throat, loudly.

“Oh yeah, one second, I want a snack anyway,” Scott says.

Stiles still thinks he ought to take off the snood.

 

*

 

Cross-country practice the next week is hell. Finstock still hasn’t gotten over missing the last meet, which totally wasn’t their fault, there was traffic, but he doesn’t seem to care. Stiles is pretty damn jealous of his werewolf friends who are barely even sweating when they get back to the locker room.

“I’ve gotta run,” Scott says as he pulls on a Beacon Hills Lacrosse t-shirt. “Allison wants to meet to talk about alpha pack stuff.”

“Cool, don’t fuck up,” Stiles says cheerfully, raising one eyebrow at Isaac.

“Can you give me a ride home?” Isaac asks. He’s put on a chunky cable knit cardigan.

“Sure. But I gotta tell you, I really think you should ditch the cardigan. Don’t wolves run hot?”

Isaac blinks at him. He’s got very long eyelashes, Stiles notices.

“I’m very sensitive to air conditioning,” says Isaac.

As they make their way to the Jeep Stiles notices Isaac watching him out of the corner of his eye. Werewolves are way less subtle than they think they are, Stiles has decided.

“So now that Derek is not-dead do you think he’ll let you move back in?”

Isaac shrugs, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He gave me a key. He said I could have the loft back?”

He starts to fiddle with one of the oversized buttons on his sweater. Stiles tries to look supportive.

“I’m not sure though. He was kind of an…he was a butthole.”

Stiles suppresses a giggle because, yep, that’s Derek Hale for you. A butthole.

“And Scott is really nice,” Isaac continues. “His mom is cool.”

“I—yeah,” Stiles says, lamely. Because he’s thinking about how he doesn’t really know what happened to Isaac’s mom. “Scott’s mom is awesome.”

“So like, about that virgin thing…” Isaac starts. Stiles cuts him off.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been doing some reading and like, I think it’s an issue. My life is still at risk. I’ve got a new plan though, I’m gonna work on Danny, I think I have a chance maybe if I can just convince him that I’m, you know, real serious about it.”

Isaac blinks at him some more. It’s unsettling.

“Maybe there’s someone else,” he says. “There are. There’s other virgins still in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles unlocks the Jeep. “Dude, you’re brilliant. The best, really, that’s a great idea, kill two birds with one stone or whatever although it may be too soon to think about killing birds after that freak accident earlier this year. But you’re right, there has to be someone else around here that’s scared enough they’re willing to sleep with me.”

Isaac hops into the car, buckles his seat belt. Takes a deep breath.

“That’ not what I meant.” He’s still fiddling with the cardigan.

He looks really pale again. Stiles is going to have a talk with Scott about getting Isaac some seasonally appropriate clothing.

“I meant,” Isaac says, “Me.”

Stiles gapes at him, mouth wide. “You?”

“If. I mean. Only if you want. If you’re interested,” Isaac stutters out. He’s looking resolutely ahead though the only thing out the window is the brick wall of the school gymnasium.  

Stiles can feel that his mouth is still hanging open. He shakes himself a little bit, replies, “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, reiterates, “Yes. I’m definitely interested in…that. In saving both of our lives.”

“Cool,” Isaac says.

Stiles realizes that they’re still sitting in the school parking lot. He pulls out onto the street and starts to head toward Scott’s house. Isaac tugs on the sleeves of his cardigan in the passenger’s seat.

“So maybe we can go to your house,” Isaac says.

Stiles bites his lip, tries to focus on the road.

“I think my dad is working a late shift so yeah, we could do that.”

“Ok, yeah,” says Isaac, fingers flexing against the fabric of the seats.

They pull up to Stiles’ house and Stiles shuts off the Jeep, heads to the front door. His palms are a little sweaty so he wipes them on his jeans.

“Um, we can head upstairs,” he says, once they’re standing in the front hallway.

Isaac nods, starts walking up the staircase. Stiles stays a couple steps behind him and tries to get his breathing under control.  

“My rooms on the left,” Stiles says. He’s thinking about the logistics; he’s only got the condom from the night of the birthday party and he really, really doesn’t want to use that. He’s got some lube in his bedside table but he’s not really sure what Isaac has in mind.

“So like, what do you think counts,” Stiles asks, sitting down on his bed.

Isaac shrugs, tugs on his cardigan sleeves some more. “Maybe like, hand jobs?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, “maybe it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Isaac is looking really pale again. “I know we’re in a hurry,” he says, “but maybe we can start slow?”

Stiles hops up off of the bed, trips over his own feet a little as he stands up. Stumbles toward Isaac, says, “Yeah. Slow is good.”

Isaac doesn’t look like he’s going to make a move anytime soon so Stiles steps forward until he can reach out, unbutton one of the ridiculous cardigan buttons.

He looks up, up at Isaac’s mouth, and man is he tall. Pushes up on his toes and slides his mouth against Isaac’s.

“Have you done this before,” Stiles asks.

“Kissing?” It’s not an answer.

“Yeah, kissing. Have you kissed anyone before?”

Isaac shakes his head, no.

“That’s ok,” Stiles says. “You’ll like it.”

“I know,” Isaac says, quietly.

Stiles finally finishes unbuttoning his sweater and slips a hand underneath, runs his palm from Isaac’s side around to his back. He leaves his hand there, rests it on the small of his back, rubbing gently. He really didn’t think he’d be the calm one.

“C’mon,” he says, and Isaac leans down to seal their mouths together.

The kiss starts out dry and a little awkward, too shallow, too tentative, until Stiles shoves his tongue into Isaac’s mouth. Isaac freezes for half a second before surging forward, sucking on Stiles’ tongue.

Stiles keeps one hand under his sweater and brings the other up to Isaac’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Runs his knuckles across the collarbone underneath the stretch of Isaac’s white undershirt. Isaac pulls back to bite gently at Stiles’ lower lip.

“Ok,” Stiles mumbles, barely a question.

In response Isaac finally touches him, runs both hands from the breadth of Stiles’ shoulders down to his ass where he grabs two handfuls. Stiles stumbles even closer, lets out a gasp into Isaac’s open mouth. Stiles is already starting to get a little hard and he can feel Isaac’s dick pressing up against his stomach.

They both reach for one another’s flies at the same time, which is more hilarious than it ought to be.

“Ok,” Stiles says, once he’s stopped laughing long enough to stand up straight, “me first,” and he shoves his hand down the front of Isaac’s jeans. The angle’s all awkward and the most he can really do is cup Isaac’s dick, give him a gentle squeeze.

When he looks up Isaac’s got his eyes closed and is breathing heavily through his nose.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Stiles says, trying not to feel to confident. The button of Isaac’s pants is rubbing against the outside of his wrist and he thinks he’s probably getting a bruise or at least a little rash.

Isaac’s cotton briefs have just started to get a damp patch on the front when Stiles hears the front door slam open.

“Shit shit shit,” he mutters as he yanks his hand out of Isaac’s jeans, “must have been wrong about dad’s schedule for today.”

Panic isn’t quite the word to describe the look on Isaac’s face but it’s close enough. He reaches down and adjusts his dick in his jeans, which Stiles find way hotter than he ought to, given the circumstances. He helps Isaac button up his cardigan, yanking the hem down to hide his erection.

“Here,” Stiles says, grabbing a paperback from his desk and shoving it into Isaac’s hands. “I’m loaning you a book. You’re in my bedroom because you need to borrow a book for English class.”

Isaac raises both eyebrows but he nods, turns to leave Stiles’ room. Stiles follows him downstairs, says loudly, “It’s boring but it will be great for your essay! Don’t forget to return it! See you on Monday in school!”

He shoves Isaac out the front door and turns to see his dad staring at him inquisitively.

“That’s one of my classmates,” Stiles says before turning to run back upstairs where he may or may not jerk off before dinner.

Later he remembers that Isaac probably had to walk home.

 

*

 

Stiles expects some degree of awkwardness on Monday but Isaac acts normal, as if nothing has happened. He’s got on a flannel shirt and what Stiles can only describe as a neckerchief.

“I think my neighbor’s dog has one of those,” he says as they change for lacrosse practice.

“Do you want to try again,” Isaac asks, which is a little beside the point but Stiles doesn’t really mind.

“Um, yeah,” he says, “but I think my house is out.”

“We can go to mine,” Isaac replies.

Stiles balks. “You mean Scott’s? You want to ask Scott to clear out of his house so that you can de-virginize his best friend?”

Isaac looks slightly panicked. “No I mean—the loft. At Derek’s.”

That doesn’t sound like much better of an idea to Stiles.

“He’ll be gone, it’s fine,” Isaac says. “Besides, he said I could have people over.”

“I thought he was a butthole,” Stiles asks.

“Whatever, do you want to or not?” Isaac looks legitimately pissy in his neckerchief.

“It’s cool, I’m in,” says Stiles.

He drives over to Derek’s loft after lacrosse practice ends. The loft is on the edge of town and it takes him a good 20 minutes to get over there. He tries to get in the mood on the way over, thinks about Danny’s back muscles and the length of Lydia’s skirt today and the threesome porn he’d watched last week.

The door is unlocked when he get’s there which seems a little suspect until Isaac hollers down, “I’m up here!”

Stiles takes the spiral staircase up, tries not to touch the railing because it looks kind of rusty if he’s being honest.

There isn’t much up there. Isaac’s got a mattress with sheets on the floor and a rack of hanging clothes in one corner. Stiles see a lot of knits and flannel. He’s checking out a puppy calendar, the only thing hanging on the wall, when Isaac clears his throat behind him.

When he turns he finds that Isaac has already got his shirt off, his pants unbuttoned. Well then, Stiles thinks. Time to get to it.

Isaac’s nipples are pebbled in the cool air of the loft and Stiles reaches out, brushes a thumb over one of them. Isaac sucks in a quick breath.

“How do you want to do this,” Stiles asks.

For once Isaac doesn’t look so pale, is starting to get flushed around his cheeks and shoulders.

“Maybe we can start off like last time,” he says.

Stiles is cool with that. He reaches forward and shoves a hand into Isaac’s open pants, is able to actually wrap a hand around him this time.

“Good?” Stiles pulls his fingers a little bit tighter, tries to get a rhythm going.

“Uh huh,” Isaac replies.

Stiles reaches up with his other hand, rubs his palm against Isaac’s abdomen. Feels his muscles tighten. He doesn’t really want to take his shirt off, looking at this.

Isaac starts pushing up into his fist but his underwear keeps getting in the way, bunching awkwardly over the head of his dick.

“Let’s take these off,” Stiles says as he pushes Isaac’s jeans and briefs down around his thighs.

Stiles gets a hand back around his cock and Isaac bends down and leans in for a kiss. It’s better, smoother than last time. His hands drift to push underneath Stiles’ t-shirt.

Maybe Stiles is distracted by the kissing or maybe it’s the little bubble of precome that’s beading on the tip of Isaac’s dick; either way, he barely notices the sound of a rusty hinge squealing open. In fact, he doesn’t register anything at all until someone at the top of the stairs is saying, “What’s this.”

Stiles jerks away from Isaac, forgets for a second that he has a dick in his hand, remembers and lets go quickly, shoving his hand into his pocket. Isaac is frantically tucking himself back into his jeans, looking around for his shirt on the floor. Belatedly Stiles realizes he’s still got on the neckerchief and it looks dumb.

Derek is scowling at both of them. Derek, who just walked up the stairs to find Stiles giving his roommate slash pack member slash wolf brother a hand job. Lovely.

“What’s this,” Derek repeats.

Isaac has managed to get back into his clothes and is staring resolutely at the floor.

"I didn't know you used stairs," says Stiles. 

“You said I could have people over?”

Derek hasn’t stopped scowling. “This. This is not what I meant.”

Stiles feels really badly for Isaac but pissed off at Derek, who is most definitely, without question, a butthole.

Derek turns his scowl on Stiles. “Please wait downstairs.”

He thinks about protesting for half a second but decides his life really isn’t worth it and makes his way back down the spiral staircase.

It’s just his luck, he thinks, that Peter is waiting, sprawled out on Derek’s sofa.

“Hello,” says Peter, with a nasty smile and a raised eyebrow.

“You have a nasty smile,” says Stiles.

Peter just widens his grin.

Muffled whispers are coming from the upstairs loft and Stiles thinks this may be the worst moment of his life, cockblocked by Derek Hale. He ignores the voices and focuses instead on how ugly Derek’s velvet couch is. Stiles thinks he probably pulled it out of a dumpster somewhere.

After several minutes Stiles hears one pair of footsteps descending down the stairs and turns to see Isaac heading toward him.

Isaac glances over at Peter and says, as quietly as possible, “Derek says the virgin thing doesn’t matter for werewolves. That they don’t want us anyway.”

Stiles feels the bottom of his stomach drop out. “So what, you’re done?”

“Yeah,” says Isaac sheepishly. “I really thought I was going to die so, you know, I rushed. But I’d rather wait.”

And there’s absolutely nothing Stiles can say to that without sounding like a dick, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead he focuses on a point just past Isaac’s ear, the smog that he can see outside of Derek’s window.

“I’m sure you can find someone else,” Isaac says. Says, “Derek doesn’t think they’ll kill anymore virgins anyway.”

So that’s that.

 

*

 

Greenberg doesn’t show up to lacrosse practice the following Thursday. By Friday morning they’ve found his body, same cause of death as all of the other victims. Friday night Stiles tells his dad that he’s sleeping over at Scott’s and shows up at Derek’s place unannounced.

When he knocks its Derek who opens the door. He’s got on a ratty looking tank top and what might be sweatpants.

“Were you asleep,” Stiles asks. Derek just scowls at him.

“I really need to talk to Isaac,” Stiles says.

“He isn’t here.” Derek looks like he’s getting ready to close the door, which, no, that’s not cool. Stiles’ life is at risk.

“They killed another virgin,” Stiles says, voice wavering. He fists his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie. “And like, you kind of ruined my only chance of not being the next victim.”

Derek looks around shiftily. He pulls the door open all of the way and motions for Stiles to come inside.

“So, will you de-virginize me,” Stiles asks, leaning with his back against Derek’s desk, elbows resting on the edge.

“Yes,” Derek says, “but only for your own safety.”

Stiles is kind of excited but also kind of terrified by this unexpected turn of events.

“Is this a pity fuck,” he asks, chewing on the string of his hoodie.

“Yes,” says Derek, but Stiles can see him looking at his mouth, glancing down to where his jeans are slipping low on his hips.

“Ok,” he says, “ just as long as I don’t turn up dead tomorrow.”

Derek nods, looks a little bit grim. He turns and walks toward the velvet couch that Stiles still doesn’t like.

He sits on the couch, knees spread. Looks over to the desk that Stiles is still sprawling against and says, “Come over here.

Stiles is maybe dragging this out a bit on purpose but he finally meanders his way over to the couch and is moving to sit down next to Derek when he says, “No.”

Stiles blinks down at him.

“Turn around,” Derek says, and pulls Stiles down into his lap, chest pressing up against Stiles’ back. He brings his knees together so that Stiles’ thighs are forced apart, straddling him.

Stiles takes deep, even breaths as Derek runs a hand down his chest.

“Better get this off,” he says as he unzips Stiles’ hoodie.

He throws it on the ground. What follows is a very awkward moment where Derek tries to pull his t-shirt over his head and Stiles’ gets trapped, arms flailing, before Derek gives a quick yank and frees him.

“Ok,” Stiles says, “good progress,” and then lets out a yelp when Derek’s fingers go to unbutton his jeans.

He keeps a hand pressed against Stiles’ stomach and Stiles is stupidly impressed when he unzips his jeans one-handed.

Derek pushes down his jeans and underwear just enough to get at his cock. He wraps one big hand around Stiles and starts to jerk him roughly. It’s not really that good, not yet, but Stiles already feels on edge.

“Good,” Derek breathes into his ear. Stiles can feel a flush breaking out over his neck, his chest.

Derek thumbs his slit, brings his other hand down to play with Stiles’ balls.

“That’s it,” Derek says, as Stiles starts to shudder, just slightly.

When Derek let’s one hand drift down, presses behind Stiles’ balls, ghosts over his hole, Stiles can’t stop himself from whimpering.

“Shh,” says Derek, “I’ve got you.”

When Stiles finally comes it’s too soon, too abrupt. He shoots all over Derek’s hand and his own stomach, even feels a spot of dampness hit his chin. It’s kind of impressive.

He expects Derek to push him off afterwards, maybe shove him to the floor, but instead he presses his lips against the skin behind Stiles’ ear. Not quite a kiss. He grasps Stiles’ shoulder and runs a soothing hand along his stomach where his abdominal muscles are still fluttering.

He’s maybe smearing the come around a little bit, maybe rubbing it into Stiles’ skin, but Stiles’ is too tired to really care.

He can feel Derek hard underneath him, asks, “Do you want me to?”

Derek nips his earlobe, says, “No thanks.”

He shifts Stiles’ body so that he’s sitting beside him on the couch. Stiles really wishes his bare ass wasn’t touching the velvet, but. What can you do.

“I have some snacks,” Derek says. He gets up, rummages through his cabinets and comes up with only a box of Pop Tarts.

“I have a strawberry Pop Tart,” he amends.

“I’m ok,” Stiles says. He feels self-conscious now, covered in come with his dick still hanging out.

“You can use the bathroom,” Derek says. “There are some towels under the sink.”

“Thanks,” says Stiles.

“Do you want me to drive you home,” asks Derek.

Stiles shakes his head, no.

“I’m going upstairs,” Derek says, “You can let yourself out.”

Stiles just blinks at him.

Before he reaches the stairs Stiles calls out. “Derek.”

He turns, faces Stiles.

“Do hand jobs count? For, you know, devirginizing?”

Derek’s eyes skim down, over the come drying on his stomach. Stiles feels himself starting to blush, feels like maybe he could get hard again.

“It counts,” says Derek.

That night he dreams about dark, handsome strangers instead of being strangled by a serial killer. He can live with that.  


End file.
